


take out your breath, watch it come awake

by Anonymous



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Drunk Crozier, M/M, Manhandling, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Topson, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 18:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30143397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: All those touches that lingered  too long...all those looks they shared in the dead of night when the ship slept and it seemed like they were the last two people left on this earth...out here in this forgotten and forsaken place, adrift from everyone but each other. Was this really all it took? Just for Francis to ask?
Relationships: Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Kink Lucky Dip





	take out your breath, watch it come awake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dissembler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dissembler/gifts).



> The title of this fic is stolen from the song 'Bitches Brew' by Crosses. Whilst the lyrics of the song are more in line with the body being taken over by some mythical creature, like a werewolf or a vampire, there's some nice metaphors in there which I think fit in quite well with the ~*~*mood~*~* of The Terror overall. Anyway I love these boys and I especially love Francis at his most vulnerable <3 Hope you like this! :)  
> Huge thanks to my beta who is just quite awesome.

Jopson catches Francis before his skull cracks the table. His steward’s steady hand between his head and the edge of the dark wood, Francis barely makes a sound beside a small grunt as he tries, and fails, to keep himself upright. 

His hand had slipped as he went to grab whatever edge he could find, those well-practised sea legs of his not faring well under the influence of however many glasses of whiskey he’d consumed that evening. But he shot to his feet when Francis stumbled, and a good thing he did too, or he’d be nursing more than a hangover tomorrow morning. 

“It’s all right, captain, I’ve got you…” 

Jopson grips him hard, pulling Francis up from where he’s halfway to the floor. The captain’s body is limp, and he reaches out blindly for Jopson’s arm; it’s busy holding him firm and tight around his collar, almost choking him. 

“Jopson.” Francis is a little out of breath when he speaks and as Jopson brings him upright, his grip tightens, and it’s a good thing it does too as Francis knows he’ll only stumble more should he let go. 

It’s a fleeting moment, and once Jopson’s got the captain settled back into a chair, he lets go of him. Francis already misses the hands upon him. Seems a lack of human touch has had more of an impact on him than he’d cared to think, and no amount of whiskey or bringing himself off under the sheets in his cabin can settle that base need. 

Jopson attempts to tidy him up, readjusting his coat and collar as Francis sits, still and useless. 

That familiar feeling of shame kindles deep inside his chest, stomach swirling with guilt as he tries to will away whatever urge is awakening between his legs. 

Soft hands, _Jopson’s hands_ , take his head and turn it as if inspecting for damage. There was none of course. He caught him just in time. 

“You can leave now, Jopson,” Francis says, and he hates the way his voice sounds; it’s barely an order and his words slur with every syllable. He doesn’t really want Jopson to go, but he doesn’t deserve him here either. 

“I should get you ready for bed, sir. I don’t think you’re in a fit state to get there by yourself quite yet. Captain.” 

He adds his rank out of respect, but on this occasion it stings and Francis looks away, chuckling softly at his own expense. 

“Come on.” Jopson takes his arm and wrenches Francis from his seat. It’s so unapologetically brash it has Francis’ breath catching in his throat again, and a part of him wants to feign a second tumble, if only to have Jopson’s hands wrap around his neck once more. 

Francis decides he’s drunk enough to test the water and that Jopson is brave enough to rise to the challenge. So he plants his feet, stopping them in their tracks and forcing Jopson to face him. 

“Take a drink with me, Jopson.”

On any other occasion, an invitation to drink with his captain was not something Jopson would decline. But he gives Francis a small smile, and his hand clasps the arm he has in his hold. 

“I think you’ve had quite enough for tonight, sir.” Francis stays put and Jopson drags him, letting the other man stumble forward. “Please, captain.”

Francis isn’t sure what Jopson’s asking permission for, but his sluggishness has Jopson pulling him harder towards the door of his private cabin, and his body slackens, bones thick and heavy with fatigue and that lovely warmth only alcohol can provide in this part of the world. Jopson’s behind him now. He’s being pushed by the shoulders into his cabin and when he goes to slump into his bed, Jopson catches him, pulling him straight forcefully and turning him on the spot. 

Francis sways where he stands, eyes staring into Jopson’s as he’s pulled free of his coat. He doesn’t do it with the gentleness he usually administers, and Francis begins to suspect an ounce of impatience in his steward. Whilst that may be so, (and it doesn’t make Francis feel any better about himself), he revels in the way Jopson’s fingers make quick, sharp work of his uniform, tearing it off piece by piece with little to no affection. 

“Turn please, sir.”

Francis swallows the lump that catches in his throat when Jopson says it - almost clinically cold. He turns, allowing Jopson free rein, and the more he tries to ignore the raging feeling now fully awake in his groin, the harder it becomes and the harder it aches for that rough touch.

Jopson spins him again, so fast it leaves Francis dizzier than before he’d taken that tumble headfirst into his officers table. His hand raises instinctively to rest on Jopson’s shoulder, and for the first time since he’d started undressing him, Jopson pauses, looking down at his captain with concern. 

“Sorry, sir,” he says quietly, and they pause, both suddenly aware of Jopson’s fingers at Francis’ fly, the arousal beneath now too obvious for either to pretend isn’t there. 

“Think nothing of it, Jopson,” Francis says, and for the first time this evening he isn’t disgusted with how he sounds, managing to give his words some solidity. 

“Forgive me if I’ve been...rather rough with you, captain. I didn’t want you to…”

“Damn your ears, Jopson. I told you not to trouble yourself, did I not?”

“Not in so many words, sir.” 

Jopson flashes a smile that has his emerald eyes twinkling in the candlelight, then he looks away from the captain’s face, returning to the task of unfastening his trousers. 

The relief of fabric dragging against his erection has Francis letting out a low hum of satisfaction that he tries to hide by clearing his throat. When Jopson comes up to face him again after removing the bottom half of his clothes, he stares at him with a look Francis can’t identify; it has his blood running hot. 

Once he’s dressed in his nightclothes, Jopson’s hands are back by his sides. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you, captain?”

There’s a fraction of a second where Jopson’s eyes traverse down Francis’ body, the erection between his legs quite visible beneath the pale nightshirt which barely reaches the top of his thighs. Francis shakes his head slowly, not allowing the thought to even pass through. “No, Jopson, off to bed with you.”

“Perhaps I should stay with you a while, should you lose your footing again?”

Francis forces out a small laugh, but shoves Jopson aside. “Do not trouble yourself. I don’t plan on taking any more walks until at least the next sunrise.”

“Approximately in three months time then, sir?” Jopson’s cheeky smile greets Francis when he shoots him a look. 

His short few steps to the bed are unsteady, and Jopson reaches out to take his arm, squeezing it tightly as he follows. _Damn him_ , Francis thinks as he leans into Jopson’s body, letting him guide him all the way until he’s lying back, feeling (and probably looking) rather pathetic and desperate. 

“If there’s anything I can do for you, captain. Anything at all…” Those eyes again - unapologetically looking over Francis’ body, now flush all over, chest rising and falling with each breath that comes heavy and hard out of his mouth. To hell with it. 

“Your hands, Jopson.”

There’s a small pause, a look of confusion as Jopson stares down at him. 

“Put your hands on me.”

Jopson jumps to it, as though this was something he’d been waiting a lifetime for. Perhaps he had...just waiting for permission all this time. Or waiting for Francis to be in such a pliant state he doesn’t have the strength to say no. All those touches that lingered too long...all those looks they shared in the dead of night when the ship slept and it seemed like they were the last two people left on this earth...out here in this forgotten and forsaken place, adrift from everyone but each other. Was this really all it took? Just for Francis to ask? Was it really that simple?

Jopson’s hands push Francis’ nightshirt up, bunching it around his waist, exposing his hard cock to the cabin’s warm air, heated only by the small, dwindling fire and their breath. 

“Wait…” Francis halts Jopson’s hand by gently clasping his wrist. But Jopson takes the captain’s hand in his own, the other too, pressing them down either side of his waist. 

“I’ve got you captain,” Jopson says, and it’s so different to how he says it when he stops him from falling, fixes a stitch in his coat, or serves him a drink, and it has something animalistic stirring within Francis’ gut that almost makes him feel sick. 

That nausea is quickly washed away when Jopson’s mouth wraps around him, warm and soft and excruciatingly slow. It sucks the tip of his cock gently, so gentle it has Francis bucking his hips up, eyes rolling back in his head. 

Jopson’s hands come from where they’re cutting off the circulation around Francis’ wrists and take his hips, slamming him back down against the mattress sharply. 

“It’s at my pace or not at all, sir.” 

Jopson’s sharp tone has Francis shivering from head to toe. He nods, allowing Jopson control over him once more. His thumbs dig into Francis’ skin, where his hip bones have started to jut out as a result of the meagre meals they’ve recently been subject to. 

That warm mouth envelops him again, and this time it slides all the way down the length of his cock, forcing Francis to cry out in a splutter of choked gasps and damnations. His hands twitch, not knowing whether he wants to twist the sheets or Jopson’s hair into fists. He opts for the sheets, only because he’s enjoying the grip Jopson has on his hips and doesn’t want them put to use around his wrists again. 

Jopson makes a sound against him, which reverberates through Francis’ whole body. Knowing he won’t last long, he closes his eyes and focuses instead on the heat of Jopson’s palms against his skin, rather than the painfully wondrous feeling of his tongue running up the underside of his erection. 

Jopson’s very good. So good it has Francis fleetingly wondering if he’s done something like this to any other man and quickly pushing aside that overwhelming sense of lust and ownership that he has over Jopson. There’s a horrible sickness in jealousy and he’s never been one to indulge in it. He doesn’t want to start making a habit of it now. 

Jopson’s lips slide off him, making an obscene sound in the otherwise silent and creaky cabin. Francis snaps his eyes open, reaching desperately for him. 

“ _Christ_ , Jopson. Don’t stop now.”

A sly smile passes over Jopson’s lips as he reaches between Francis’ legs, taking him in his hand and squeezing his cock hard in his fist, riding it up the length of him just once. He watches in fascination as a small dribble of pre-cum emanates from the tip, and he circles it with his thumb, pulling the skin back and dipping it under the foreskin. 

“Only to hear you beg, sir,” Jopson whispers, and his hand comes away only to be replaced by his mouth once again. This time Francis’ hands tangle in Jopson’s hair, pulling it out of place, and it takes the younger man’s full strength of pulling them away and slamming them aside to have Francis spending in his mouth. 

The air feels as though it’s being ripped from his lungs, and he jolts and shudders as Jopson swallows him down. It’s carnal and wonderful at the same time, and he’s barely at the other end of his orgasm when Jopson climbs up his body, rutting like a dog against him. Francis spreads his legs, allowing Jopson some room, feeling the clothed shape of his erection against his own sensitive cock, moistened by Jopson’s mouth and his own seed. 

As Jopson pushes every bit of his weight into him, Francis revels in how satisfyingly suffocating it is, and he feels Jopson’s hand at his neck again, pressing - ever so slightly - as Jopson makes a small strangled sound against his cheek, finishing in his trousers. 

Francis lies there for some time, trying not to think about how wonderful it may be to have Jopson like this again, dominant and overbearing, pounding against him and splitting him open. He is so much younger, so full of energy... Francis would be powerless beneath him. The thought alone has his hand sneaking up to stroke Jopson’s cheek affectionately. A strange tenderness settles between them.

“Would you have me off to bed now, sir?” Jopson finally says, voice delightfully muffled by his head being smothered into Francis’ neck. 

“No, Jopson. On second thoughts, I’d quite like you here with me tonight.”

His eyes are already heavy, and his mind drifts gently across that pleasant and calm tide of sleep. Very close by, is Jopson’s voice. 

“Yes, captain. Anything.”


End file.
